


The Big Sleep

by Enigel



Category: Good Omens
Genre: M/M, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-25
Updated: 2004-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-02 02:45:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigel/pseuds/Enigel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Crowley came to spend the 19th century sleeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Big Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Written for kait of doom in the Yuletide 2004 Challenge

Historians of the occult and occult historians never recorded it, but the fact remains, as obscure and unresearched as it is, that in the nineteenth century Evil has had one less representative roaming the Earth.

One wouldn't necessarily guess that, judging by the world's history, but this is because good and evil have a way of balancing each other's influence. In this particular case, this meant that the representative of Good took a well deserved break and enriched his rare books collection, as well as his treasured Regency silver snuffboxes collection, while the representative of Evil was, pure and simply, sleeping.

He was sleeping with as much dedication as he'd ever put in some of his most successful actions, though the reason for it wasn't as much something he'd done, but something he wanted to avoid doing. The reason was also closely related to the aforementioned representative of Good, and to something they had done together, after a lunch in Paris that was extended to dinner. An excellent champagne was also involved, and a series of challenges from both parts that had ended up with both parts learning something new[1] for the whole ensuing night.

In short, Crowley hated "morning after"s. He usually avoided them by disappearing before there was any morning to speak of, but this didn't look like a viable option right now, so he took the other way out. He decided to sleep in, so if there was a morning outside, it wouldn't be his problem.

* * *

It may appear unlikely that such a silly little thing could be the cause for the representative of evil on Earth to miss a whole century, but there you have it. Character faults were never reserved exclusively for humans.

* * *

At first, Aziraphale patiently waited for him, with a fresh cup of tea and cocoa biscuits. After he got bored with keeping the tea fresh for a couple of hours, he went out in search of a rare manuscript and returned four days later, but by that time Crowley had become so engrossed in his new pastime that he was genuinely sleeping, much to the angel's dismay.

A week later Aziraphale decided he had better things to do than to try and wake the sleeping serpent; a couple of decades later he started to feel a tad bored, so he joined a discreet gentlemen's club where he learned to gavotte, and an even more discreet gentlemen's club where he could put to good use the knowledge Crowley had so generously shared with him. It was a shame to risk to forget all of those tips and tricks, or at least that's how he justified it to himself.[2]

About 1823, Crowley woke up with a strange sense of discomfort, and after a panicked assessment of his surroundings he concluded the discomfort came from within, and headed to the lavatory. The effort had been exhausting enough to grant a sleep supplement, and realizing he'd have to meet Aziraphale eventually even more an incentive to prolong the sleep experiment for as long as he could.

As the century was hurrying through its last years, Crowley's sleep became lighter, until one morning of 1899 a thick paperback novel met the floor with a muffled thumping noise and marked the end of his extended nap.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?"

Crowley scowled, trying to evaluate the amount of irony hidden in the question, but Aziraphale seemed genuinely sincere about it. Besides, there was no way he'd mistreat a book for such a little purpose.

"No. I was getting up anyway - thought I'd see what the world has been up to lately."

Crowley yawned, then stretched, then yawned some more, and valiantly fought the impulse to roll on the other side of the bed and test if he could fall asleep again.

"Did they go anywhere with inventing the automobile? I've been trying for ages to get the basic design into their minds."

"I should have guessed it was one of yours," sighed Aziraphale, whose displease with the new invention grew with each passing day. "In the beginning I didn't think they stood a chance, and now the streets are crowded with them. Oh, well, you can't stop progress and all that."

Crowley thought he detected a trace of disappointment in the angel's voice.

"So you _tried_ to stop it?"

"Er." Aziraphale shuffled guiltily. "It even looked like a devilry. And the prototypes were not really viable. They were very accident-prone _anyway_. Nobody got hurt! And in the end it made people build them better, so I dare say it was for the best in the long term."

Crowley was still not convinced.

"I'm going to have to acquire one for myself and see what must be fixed. They shouldn't be too efficient yet."

And just like that, they were back in business as usual. Aziraphale still dithered for a while about whether they should or should not talk about _it_, then decided _it_ could wait.

Crowley inspected the automobile market and realized Aziraphale had been exaggerating as usual, and the industry still needed a couple of pushes and shoves before it could be properly called an industry. He considered at first to keep automobiles rare and expensive, so only the rich could afford them, but intuition (and Aziraphale's whining) told him the true potential lay in crowding the streets with cars. If the angel was annoyed now, the whole world will soon be, and the good automobiles would still be reserved for the rich. He went on to have a talk with a Mr. Ford, recently fired and on the lookout for business opportunities.

A couple of years later, Crowley invited Aziraphale to dinner, and although the conditions for their previous lunch in Paris, 1793, weren't met this time (the champagne was not as good, for one thing) the conclusion was more or less the same, after Crowley teased the angel about "having forgotten all he, Crowley, had put so much trouble in teaching him."

Aziraphale tried not to preen, but he was secretly very pleased to see that Crowley was awake in the morning. He still had to miracle the tea and biscuits by himself, which was just as good, seeing as he had always had the better taste, but at least it looked like there was no extensive sleeping in plan for the next century.

* * *

[1] Although Crowley would never admit it, and for the sake of his self-esteem he will never be made to admit it, he was vaguely resentful that what started as a lesson for Aziraphale's benefit had ended with a couple of surprising discoveries of his own.

[2] Luckily enough, he didn't need to justify it to anyone else.


End file.
